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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768811">drop a tear in my wine glass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior'>knoxoursavior</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Angst, Bottom Iwaizumi Hajime, Exes, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Timeskip</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 00:48:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,568</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29768811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tooru books a red-eye to Santa Ana and a room in a hotel about four kilometers away from Hajime’s dorm, it's only to celebrate his new starter position. It's only that, and it has to be just that, or else he's spent thousands of dollars on a mistake. </p><p><i>It's only to celebrate,</i> he tells himself, and he keeps on repeating it until he believes it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>82</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Haikyuu Writer Jukebox Round One - Mitski</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>drop a tear in my wine glass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>based on lonesome love by mitski!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tooru becomes starting setter peacefully, following the retirement of the previous setter. The announcement comes and goes without trouble; everyone congratulates him, and Tooru feels underwhelmed through all of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels… anticlimactic. After the lonely nights he spent practicing, pushing himself to his limits, to be worthy of being a starter, and all the days he spent poring over workbooks, struggling to improve his Spanish and his English—it doesn't feel enough. Doesn't pack enough of a punch to signify a turning point in Tooru's life, not like when Tooru packed up his entire life and flew to Argentina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru lies in bed that night, convincing himself to be happy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is what I’ve been working so hard for, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he tells himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is my chance. This is what I wanted. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he wanted. Sure, it’s not the only thing he’s ever wanted, but it's the one he chose. And being here, all alone in this apartment that’s too big for one person, in a country that isn’t his—this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> what he chose. This is what he has to live with, and he’s happy doing so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s happy, he’s happy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s happy.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is;</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s happy, and he doesn’t miss Hajime. He doesn’t miss Hajime’s hand in his hair, or Hajime’s lips on his neck, or Hajime’s arm around his waist. Tooru’s just lonely; he misses touch, misses someone close to him, someone to tell him that they love him, that he’s beautiful and wanted and worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when Tooru books a red-eye to Santa Ana and a room in a hotel about four kilometers away from Hajime’s dorm, it isn’t because he wants Hajime to tell him all those things. It isn't because Hajime makes him </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>any of those things. Not at all. It's only to celebrate his new starter position. It's only that, and it has to be just that, or else he's spent thousands of dollars on a mistake. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It's only to celebrate,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tells himself, and he keeps on repeating it until he believes it. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime meets him at the airport.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru is doing just fine, and then he sees Hajime, dressed in a white shirt with sleeves that cling to his arms. Hajime, with his backpack held in front of him like his mother taught him when they were kids, going to school by themselves for the first time in their lives. Hajime, smiling so brightly at him as if Tooru didn't ignore him for weeks at a time during those first few months they spent apart, freshly broken up, freshly hurting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, loser,” Hajime says, and Tooru—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru feels like a fool. Feels like crying because all he wants to do is wrap his arms around Hajime and kiss him. Ask him to drop everything and fly back to Argentina.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Tooru can't. He won't, even if he wants to, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” Hajime says, and Tooru has no choice but to fall into his open arms, to fit his cheek back into the junction between Hajime's shoulder and his neck. No choice but to fist his hands in Hajime's shirt and hold on tight. “Congratulations on getting starter, man. I’m so happy for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru presses a smile into Hajime’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he says, and he gives himself a few seconds. A few short moments to pretend, and then Tooru forces himself to pull away. “I missed you, you jerk.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime punches his shoulder lightly, and Tooru hates that he's missed that too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Missed you too,” Hajime says, and then he takes Tooru's luggage from his hold. His hand brushes against Tooru's, and Tooru does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>think about it. “Come on. Let's get you to your hotel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru follows. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>This is a mistake. Tooru knew it the moment he saw Hajime again, but he's sure now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime is flushed red, wine-drunk, an arm's reach away. And how badly Tooru wants to reach for him, to curl a hand against Hajime's cheek, to lean in and kiss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn't though. Mind muddled by expensive hotel wine, tongue loose, chest burning—even then, Tooru doesn't.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'll have to take you around town tomorrow,” Hajime's saying. He leans back against the headboard, takes another sip of wine that stains his lips purple. “You'll love it, Tooru. I’m so… so free here. I feel like I didn't really know how to breathe until I got here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Funny, Tooru thinks. He's finding it harder to breathe here, with Hajime so close to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru plants his elbow on his one knee that's pulled up to his chest, runs one hand through his hair and lets it stay there. He shapes his mouth into a smile, “Will you play tour guide for me, Hajime?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime frowns, and Tooru hates that he's missed that too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I will. Who else is gonna take care of you, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru bites his tongue. Breathes in and out, in and out, until he feels steady again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't want to be a bother,” he says, and he wills Hajime to respond the way he would have when they were kids—with a roll of his eyes and a punch to his shoulder. Rough and childish, the surface level that Tooru can pretend he doesn’t love, that he can bring himself to look away from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead, Hajime curls a hand around the curve of Tooru's shoulder. Instead, Hajime reassures him. “You aren't. You won't be,” he promises. “This is the first time I'm seeing you after an entire </span>
  <em>
    <span>year.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You won’t get rid of me that easily.” </span>
</p><p><span>If they were still together, Tooru would tease him. And then he would lean into his space and kiss him. Tell him </span><em><span>I love you</span></em><span> but</span> <span>think to himself—</span><em><span>he's too good to me, too gentle, too kind.</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Instead, Tooru looks away, ducks his head, whispers a different truth into existence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really missed you, Hajime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels Hajime's grip tighten around his shoulder, squeezing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me then,” Hajime says. “If you really missed me, then why won’t you look at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru grits his teeth. “It's hard to look at you,” he says, and yet he turns his head to face Hajime anyway. Another mistake—he's just in time to see Hajime's face fall, eyebrows knitting and jaw working, eyes a bit too wet for comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> to you, Tooru? What was so bad that it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard </span>
  </em>
  <span>to look at me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that is just—just so far from what Tooru meant that he has to stop and think for a moment, has to swallow down the panic that rises up his throat when Hajime moves to pull away. Tooru catches him before he can, wrapping one hand around his wrist and hoping that Hajime doesn't fight. Hajime has always been stronger than him after all, and he's always held back for Tooru's sake whenever they had their messy wrestling games as kids or petty fights as teenagers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds back now too, and lets Tooru hold him where he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn't mean it like that. You were—” </span>
  <em>
    <span>more than I could ask for, more than I could have, more than I deserve— </span>
  </em>
  <span>“It's not… it's just not like that, Hajime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru knows the answer, knows that he shouldn't say it. But—well. He's ruined if he lies, ruined if he continues trying to avoid answering at all, ruined if he tells the truth. He might as well go with the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to kiss you,” he says, and he sees the way Hajime's eyes shift, the way he glances down at Tooru's lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Hajime looks back at him, eyes hard. The way he used to get at the tail-end of a close match, resolute as he steps out, as if to say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>rely on me, give me the ball and I'll win it for us. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Right now, Hajime looks the most like the version of himself that Tooru puts on a pedestal in his mind. The version of Hajime who could make anything happen, if Tooru just trusted him. The version of Hajime that Tooru imagines asking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>come with me, come here and live with me, be with me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don't you?” the real Hajime says. The one that Tooru left. The one that he left behind for another dream. The one that he didn’t choose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're not my boyfriend anymore, Hajime,” Tooru reminds him, but he doesn't let go of Hajime’s hand. Doesn't pull away, doesn't remove himself from the situation like he should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he hates himself for it, hates himself for loving the way Hajime is looking at him right now, the way Hajime is leaning into his space, body angled towards him, chin up as he says things that even Tooru couldn't come up with in the best of his dreams, “I don't have to be your boyfriend for you to kiss me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They haven't seen each other in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>year,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hajime had said. A year that Tooru spent trying so hard not to think of him. Trying so hard not to miss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, with Hajime so close to him, it's easy for Tooru to let himself pretend that this is just a daydream. A bubble in time with no consequences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru kisses Hajime. Of course he does, and he doesn't know this Hajime who tastes like wine, who kisses Tooru until they're both gasping for breath. But Tooru feels it when Hajime starts to relax, feels it in the way Hajime presses closer until they're chest-to-chest, until there's nowhere for his hand to go but the small of Tooru's back where it belongs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it becomes </span>
  <em>
    <span>more.</span>
  </em>
  <span> More than he could have imagined, more than he could have hoped for when he booked that ticket to California. More than every kiss lingering in his memories, every one of them that Tooru was unable to forget in a year. Hajime is painfully familiar to the touch—there's the same jut of his jaw against Tooru's palm, the same flutter of his heartbeat where Tooru's fingertips rest against the line of his neck. And it's the same slant of his mouth against Tooru's, the same lips that part and let out a groan when Tooru presses a palm against his cock, already half-hard underneath his sweats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's been so long since Tooru's done this, and he wonders, for a moment, if he still remembers how to be with Hajime. He pulls away, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Hajime's arm around his waist is firm. He doesn't get very far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hajime?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime presses his forehead against Tooru's. “Just touch me, Tooru. Just—please, I missed you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru stays still, afraid he'll ruin Hajime just by breathing on him. Afraid that somehow, everything that's happened so far has just been in his head, some fucked up, long-winded what-if fantasy he dreamed up for himself. But Hajime is solid against him, and even though it feels like a dream, it’s easy enough for Tooru to look at Hajime and see all the ways he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>real.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The ways that he’s different from Tooru’s own memories and dreams and fantasies. This Hajime is just a bit tanner, just a bit wider around his shoulders, just a bit softer around the edges. This Hajime is </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants Tooru.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru wraps an arm around Hajime's shoulders. “I don't—I don't have anything on me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime ducks his head and pulls away, and Tooru thinks the worst for a moment until he comes back, a packet of lube in hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Hajime says, and Tooru takes it, his hand shaking as he does. His mind going a mile a minute as he does. He wants to ask, does Hajime carry this around all the time? Or did he come here, hoping for this to happen?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru knows which one he wants it to be, but he doesn't ask, choosing to avoid the possibility that the answer isn't what he wants it to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says instead. He breathes in, slides a hand up Hajime's arm, along the curve of his shoulder until he settles against Hajime's neck, pulling him closer for a kiss. A kiss that Hajime returns so easily that Tooru finds it hard to breathe when he pulls away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Hajime doesn't seem to have the same problem—pressing open-mouthed kisses against Tooru's skin, from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, down his neck until he reaches the junction between his shoulder and his neck where he sucks just hard enough that Tooru knows there will be a mark to remind him of Hajime even days after this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru throws his head back against the headboard as Hajime soothes him with a tongue against his burning skin. He’s barely keeping himself together as Hajime works his zipper open and pulls down his underwear. And then Hajime curls a hand around his cock, and Tooru lets out a whimper that he hasn't heard from himself in a long time. Hajime doesn't move for a moment, taking the packet of lube in his free hand and ripping it open with his teeth, and Tooru </span>
  <em>
    <span>aches,</span>
  </em>
  <span> thrusts his hips up just to chase the feeling of Hajime moving against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets what he wants soon enough, and even though the lube is cool against his cock, he bears with it. Focuses on Hajime's solid weight pressing against his thighs, Hajime's lips against his neck, Hajime's hand slipping under his shirt to slide up his torso.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Hajime is clothed still. Annoyingly so, and Tooru aches to see him. To map out everything that’s changed, file them away into his memories of Hajime— </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is what I missed, and this, and this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see you too,” Tooru says, tugging at Hajime's shirt until Hajime helps him take it off. The hem turns dark from the lube where Hajime touches it, but Tooru could hardly care, preoccupied instead with the way Hajime looks, tinted warmly with the golden light of the hotel lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime's hand finds its way around Tooru's cock again, but Tooru stops him. Instead, he pushes Hajime until he's on his back, beautiful against the white sheets. Art on a canvas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru hooks his fingers under Hajime's waistband, “Everything, Hajime. I wanna see all of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's nothing to see,” Hajime says. “It's just me. You already know all of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But it's because it’s you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tooru thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It's you, and you're everything I couldn't have.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He bites his tongue, shapes his lips into a smile, whispers a different truth into existence. “But I missed you. I want to remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru sees the way Hajime's jaw works, the way he trembles as he reaches down to place his hands over Tooru's. The way his cheeks glow pink as he pushes his sweats and his underwear down to his thighs, revealing his cock, already hard and leaking pre-come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru lets out a breath, pulls down Hajime's clothes the rest of the way and throws them onto the floor so he can pull Hajime to him. So he can press their cocks together and wrap a hand around them, the same way he used to do in his room back in Miyagi. When Hajime was his and he was Hajime's and he thought it would be that way for their entire lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like—too much. It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>overwhelming,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but Tooru bears with it, tightens his hand around them as he presses his finger against Hajime's ass, teasing. Hesitating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hajime?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Hajime writhes underneath him, back arching, hips thrusting up to meet Tooru's fist. “Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>do it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru leans down, pressing a kiss to Hajime's chest as he presses a finger into Hajime, slow and tentative. A moan escapes Hajime's lips as he curls his finger inside him, and Tooru happily drinks it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime relaxes into Tooru's touch easily, pushing his hips down onto Tooru’s hand as he spreads his legs further, pressing against Tooru as closely as he can. Tooru rewards him with a twist of his hand around their cocks and another finger stretching him open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be so easy to take this image of Hajime, pliant underneath him, and slot it into his memories from a year ago. So easy to pretend that it’s always been like this, that it’s always been the two of them together. So easy to pretend that this is anything but a reunion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime groans and reaches for Tooru’s wrist, “Tooru, I’m ready. I need you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Tooru asks, but Hajime only reaches out for him, and when Tooru leans down into his space, Hajime wraps an arm around his shoulders, presses a kiss to his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when Hajime pulls away, he doesn’t let go. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Tooru takes it slow. Pushes his way into Hajime little by little, inch by inch, until there’s nothing left. Hajime’s eyes flutter closed, his breath faltering audibly as he adjusts to Tooru’s cock. And Hajime holds onto Tooru so tightly that he wonders if Hajime would ever let him go. If he could use this as an excuse to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could, if he wanted to. He could throw away his ticket back to Argentina. He could stay here, just for a little longer. And as Tooru fucks into Hajime, as he holds onto his thigh and his waist, with Hajime’s voice in his ear—he pretends that’s what he’s going to do. Pretends because it’s the only way he can fuck Hajime without feeling like he’s ruined him too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's Hajime's name on his lips when he comes, and he repeats it over and over— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hajime, Hajime, Hajime. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gets his fill before he eventually ruins the taste of Hajime's name on his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime calls his name too when he comes, clenching around Tooru as he spills white onto their torsos. Tooru gets his fill of that too, wishes he could have recorded Hajime's voice in that moment and settles for the memory of it, carefully filed away next to the way Hajime's arm feels around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime still doesn't let him go. Not even when Tooru collapses onto him, sticky and sweaty and exhausted. Instead, Hajime wraps his arms around Tooru even tighter, hides his face in Tooru's neck, pressing kisses against Tooru's skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way Hajime holds him makes his eyes sting and his throat close up, and he squeezes his arms around Hajime just to do something other than scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wants to say, but even he’s getting tired of himself saying it. Thinking of it constantly, as much a form of torture as it is an admission of truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish I could stay here forever, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wants to say, but it’s hardly the truth. Contradicted by the part of him that aches and needs to continue living the life he’s built for himself </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want to try again, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he wants to say, but he knows he shouldn’t. Knows the end of that scenario even without having to go through everything leading up to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru swallows down everything he wants to say. Everything that would make Hajime smile, everything that would make Hajime love him, stay with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to apply for citizenship,” he says instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime pulls away from him, Tooru expects it. Has to stop himself from tightening his hold on Hajime. Wonders if he even has the right to hold Hajime after what he’s just said, and realizes that this might be the last time he’ll be able to hold Hajime like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru purses his lips, regretting his words already. Regretting this night, regretting this trip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Management brought it up with me. They think it would be a good move, and I… I think so too. So I’m going to apply for citizenship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In Argentina.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime's face is eerily blank. Unreadable, when it used to be so easy to know what was going on in Hajime’s head from the crease between his eyebrows and the set of his jaw. Tooru sees none of that now, and he hates it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he says, and then he sees Hajime’s face crumple, sees the way his eyebrows knit, the way his nose scrunches and his lips twist into a frown just as he gets himself out of Tooru's arms. Out of the bed too, picking his clothes up as he goes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hajime—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m leaving,” Hajime says. Predictably. Reasonably.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tooru has no right to stop him, but, “It’s late. Stay here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get a taxi or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There isn’t any hesitation in it. Hajime doesn't even </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>at him. And Tooru can only watch him get dressed, can only watch as he heads to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you still show me around?” Tooru asks, feeling like a fool. Drowning in a mess that he made himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime pauses at the door, already half-open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask me again tomorrow,” he says, and Tooru takes it. Accepts it as a mercy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he says, “I'm sorry, Iwa-chan.” Still, he hopes this last-ditch, desperate effort to try and resolve things between them will work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hajime sighs. “Goodbye, Tooru.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he's gone. And Tooru is alone again, back to where he started. Alone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my <a href="https://twitter.com/singeiji">twt!</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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